Just a Little Change
by Takada Saiko
Summary: A collection of shorts about Rumple and Belle, and the little things that change between them.
1. Somedays

Notes: So, I'm new to this particular fandom. I fell hard into it and became a HUGE fan of Rumbelle. Beauty and the Beast is one of my very favorite Disney movies, so the fact that it pulls from it makes me so happy. Anyway, I'm just exploring the two a bit. This will be a series a very short one-shots.

* * *

**Somedays**

"Do you dream?"

His hands paused, the wheel stilling almost immediately without his touch. He didn't look at her initially, strange golden eyes still fixated on his paused task, as if he were trying to work his mind around the words. He'd been alone so long, perhaps he simply wasn't used to questions. No one dared asked the Dark One anything that wasn't absolutely necessary.

Finally, his eyes slid over and Belle could feel her entire face heat up. No quips, no laughter. His silence made her nervous, as if she'd trampled into forbidden territory. "Well, I'm not even sure that you sleep, to be honest. You're always spinning at night. Until all hours."

The blank expression melted away, replaced by a sly grin that bared discoloured teeth. It was a smile that was never meant to put others at ease. "Been watching me, dearie?" he drawled.

"No. Well..." She hadn't thought her face could grow any redder, but if the heat from it was any indication, it'd managed.

Rumplestiltskin burst out laughing, his giggles bouncing off the stones of the so-named Dark Castle and Belle frowned. She hadn't meant to become the source of his entertainment that evening, certainly not at her own expense. She hadn't been watching him, per say, but she'd noticed. It was hard not to, truth be told. He was the only other soul in the castle and if he made even the slightest creak at the wheel it bounced all around. Perhaps that's why he'd been so put out with her crying when she'd first arrived. She could only imagine how _that_ must have traveled.

The laughter had subsided now and he'd stood, still smirking and his hands danced as he spoke. Strangely, the playfulness of his tone did not match the words that left his lips. "Hoping to find a way to slit my throat, dearie? I'll tell you what, even if you caught me asleep it'd do you little good. Don't you remember you thieving friend's arrow?"

"That's not it at all!" Belle argued. She wasn't sure she'd given her feet the command to move, but move they did and she was standing in front of him, fingers lingering on one hand and stilling the waving motion almost as quickly as her voice had stilled his wheel.

He didn't move - he barely looked to be breathing for that matter - and she tightened her grip so he wouldn't squirm away from her. "I wouldn't wish any harm on you, no matter what you think," she whispered. "I was just curious is all."

He blinked, looking suddenly uncomfortable at the physical contact and he pulled his hand free. "I rarely sleep, therefore I don't dream."

"Do you not have to sleep?"

"Not often." He paused, and an expression she recognized as the mask he so often donned flitted perfectly into place. "Too busy terrorizing the common folk, you see."

Belle found herself laughing, despite knowing it wasn't entirely untrue. "You've done good things too. I know that my village isn't the only one you've saved."

Rumplestiltskin hummed softly to himself, waving off the statement. He never accepted a kind word from her, usually ignoring it if not outright refuting it. It was his mask, she'd come to realize, and one that was perfectly constructed. Well, almost perfectly. It seemed to crack nearly to shattering whenever she touched him. So she took a risk. Without warning she wrapped her arms around his neck, just as she'd done when he'd spared Robin Hood's life. He froze, golden eyes wide and body entirely rigid in her tight embrace.

"I don't believe you that you don't dream," she informed him without letting go. "If you sleep, you dream. Perhaps someday, you might even trust me enough to tell me one of them."

"Monsters don't dream, dearie," he murmured softly, voice as taught as the rest of him.

"Well then, good thing you're not a monster," she answered and placed a kiss on his cheek. She didn't give him time to respond - not that she really expected that he would - as she ducked out of the room. Someday he'd trust her with it and as time continued on, she found that she was perfectly happy to be there when that someday came.


	2. Finding Him

A/N: Just a bit from the end of A Land Without Magic.

**Finding Him**

It came in a rush. One moment she was following a complete stranger, working through her muddled mind as to why she should trust him. He'd said that she didn't know him, but his entire reaction had spoken much differently. She'd been released from the only room she could remember by a man she didn't know and sent to yet another.

But she trusted him, and as the curse broke Belle knew why.

She still didn't know where they were going, but she recognized the thin back. It was covered by a suit jacket instead of leather, the slacks certainly looser than he used to wear. His hair was straighter now, clean, and soft. Well, it _looked_ soft, at any rate. He was limping along, relying on a cane to take pressure off his right leg and it made her suddenly wonder why.

Belle called for him to wait, but he kept on towards his goal, calling back that it wasn't far now. She'd stopped though, and as his name - his _real_ name - tumbled from her lips, he froze too. She was moving forward again, catching up even as he turned so slowly, as if he feared to put any faith in the idea that she might, just _might_, remember him. As he faced her, Belle felt a smile tug at the edges of her lips and she saw the fullness of the face that must have been his before the dark curse. "I remember," she said, finding herself almost laughing with the joy of it. "I love you."

Their last meeting played out in her mind. The flash of anger and betrayal. He'd thought she had played him and he'd turned her away for it. He hadn't tortured her, hadn't killed her. He'd thrown her out, afraid of his own soul breaking through the darkness.

But now he was right in front of her, not pulling away and not hiding. His eyes so much more _human_ than she had remembered. He wasn't hiding behind that mask of his. His own smile spread and he nodded, the words taking hold of him like a spell.

He reached forward in the same instant that she did and they pulled each other close. She could smell his cologne and feel his warm breath against her ear. "Yes, yes. And I love you too," he answered and she tightened her grip around him. She had found him, against all odds, and he loved her too.


	3. Heroes and Villains

A/N: I love the idea that Rumple kept his walking stick through the years, like part of him missed who he once was.

* * *

**Heroes and Villains**

"What's this?"

Rumplestiltskin looked up from his wheel. Belle was standing at the entrance to the room, a staff clutched in her small hand. It was long and gnarled, with notches cut into the wood up and up and up, like someone had been counting, marking the years and the inches together.

"Should I throw it out?"

_That_ caught his attention. "No!" He was on his feet then and in front of her, pulling the old staff from her fingers. It fit his own hand perfectly, the wood warn as if his was the only hand that had held it. It wasn't like many had. "You've been snooping through my things again, dearie."

"It's not snooping. It's called dusting. Heaven knows that room needed it. Have you even stepped foot into it in the last decade?"

"I never told you to clean _that_ room."

"You told me to clean the whole castle," Belle countered, not at all put off by his foul mood. "That room is part of it. What is it anyway? It looks like a walking stick. Please tell me you didn't steal it from some poor old man." Her tone was teasing, but her mind didn't have to reach far for a scenario in which Rumplestiltskin would have gained the piece of wood.

"I don't steal."

"No, you just take things from desperate people as payment." Real worry started to grip at her as her imagination took over. "Please tell me you didn't do that."

"I didn't do that," he answered flatly, still holding the staff. His fingers worked their way across the notches carefully, feeling each one in turn.

Belle stopped now, turning to look at him fully. If she had expected a laugh and for him to make light of the situation as he seemed to often do, he didn't bother. He was still studying the stick as if it were a lost treasure, something from very long ago. Perhaps it was. "Will you tell me the story?"

"There's no story to tell, dearie."

"There has to be a story," she said softly, reaching out to touch his hand. He froze, as was his habit when she initiated any sort of physical contact. "Please tell me, Rumplestiltskin."

He sighed, pulling away now and waved his free hand dramatically in the air. "This isn't one if your happily ever after tales you read in your books, dearie."

She hopped up and sat on the long table, smoothing her skirts out. "Not all of my books end happily, you know. I want to hear it."

He studied her for a moment before he began to speak, hands dancing. "There once was a very foolish man that was sent off to war. He was idealistic and he... wanted to prove himself." Gold eyes flickered to Belle, finding her listening intently. "So he left his wife and traipsed to the front lines, ready to take on the world, but he received word from a little girl that saw the future - a seer - that his wife would have a child while he was away. Happy news, yes? But he would never see the boy because he would forfeit his life on the battlefield the very next day."

"So he made a deal with you, didn't he?" Belle asked. Her smile said she was certain that she was right. It was strange, as if she wanted him to have stepped in and to be the hero of the story. As if she didn't know him at all.

"In manner of speaking," Rumplestiltskin answered, tone losing the flare it usually had. "He traded his sword for that walking stick."

At this Belle tilted her head. "I don't understand. What happened? Did the brave soldier live to see his little boy?"

The Dark One sneered at her words. "He did. He shattered his own ankle to be sent home. Armies can't make use of invalids."

The colour instantly drained from Belle's face. "Why would you do that?" she asked, horror tenting each word dark. "He tried to make a deal with you... To go home. To see his _child_! You ended the Oger War my kingdom was in like it was nothing! You couldn't find a way to save his life without injuring him?" Tears stood in her eyes, her voice rising with accusation. She was in her feet now, no fear of his power showing in her as she stood on her toes, nose to nose with him and spoke in a low, angry tone. "That's cruel, even for you."

"I told you it wasn't a happy story. I warned you, didn't I? Didn't I, dearie?"

Belle sniffed angrily, her temporary image that she wanted to see of him shattered. "But he went home? That's something. His wife must have been so relieved."

"Oh not at all. He was a coward, after all. She'd have much preferred widowhood over that."

"That's terrible. Why would you say such a horrible thing?"

"Because it's true. She hated him."

"All because you couldn't find a way. _Wouldn't_ find a way." She turned towards the door. "If you don't need anything from me, I should get back to cleaning that room. It won't do it itself."

The door slammed behind her, anger and pain filling the room in her wake, weighing down against the immortal spinner's shoulders. He clutched the walking stick tightly, pushing down the terrible feeling rising in him. He'd avoided it for so long, focused on everything _but_ that feeling.

Worthless.

Failure.

Coward.

He sank down against the table, propped against it and his eyes wandered up and down the staff, noting each mark he'd made as Bae had grown. He could almost hear his boy's laughter, see his smile as he looked up, proudly showing his papa that he'd grown again. He was going to be tall. He was going to be brave. He loved his papa so much.

Rumplestiltskin was in his feet, flinging the offensive wood to the far side of the room and his howling scream bounced off the stones. He would have turned his fury on the next nearest object had the door not opened again. Belle's tear-streaked face stopped him, dissipating the tantrum before it got too bad. She stood and waited until he had control of himself again. When he did, he motioned for her to enter. "Come back for more, dearie?" he asked, voice strained.

She shook her head and covered the distance between them. He stiffened when she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't know what to say. Awkwardly he patted her back.

"You... gave up everything for him, didn't you? So you could be with him. I didn't realize at first. I'm so sorry."

Rumplestiltskin felt his world breaking and he tried to pull away. She didn't let him though, and tightened her embrace. They stood still for several long moments and she gave him a quick squeeze before releasing him.

"You seem to want to make me some sort of hero in your stories, Belle," he murmured softly, "but you know I'm not."

She smiled through enough tears for them both. The response was not immediate as she shuffled over to the staff and picked it up. "You were to _him_. You may be again."

She took the staff and stored it carefully, making a mental note to keep the dust off of it. She didn't know the boy's name, or even why he was no longer in Rumplestilitskin's life, but every notch in the wood spoke of a love that must have caused him the deepest pain to lose. Each notch and each warn place from where it had supported him as he had struggled home. She tried to picture him: human, injured, and going home. Into the night she could hear the sound of the wheel spinning and silent tears rolled down her cheeks.


	4. You Beside Me

**You Beside Me**

The house was large. Not nearly as large as the Dark Castle, of course, but there were three stories to explore and plenty of time to do so. He had given her her own room and as much space as she desired, but he never failed to look more than a little pleased when she sought him out.

_Well, I'm not unhappy._

That was why it was strange when she couldn't find him that night. She'd been there a little over a week now, and it was like he sensed her looking for him when she did. He'd appear around a corner, almost shy at first, but never bothering to hide his affection for her. This night, though, she couldn't seem to find him. The house was locked up tight for the late hour and she saw his keys hanging on the peg by the door. He was home, and the only room she hadn't checked yet was the one hidden behind a closed door on the first floor at the western-most corner of the house. It was the only room she hadn't seen yet, as the door was always closed. The fact that it was most likely his room made her both curious and cautious. She had never seen his room in the Dark Castle and wasn't even sure if he'd kept one.

That was how Belle found herself lingering outside the door that night, hand hovering over the doorknob and entirely unsure. She pursed her lips together, thoughtful, and tapped her knuckles against the wood of the door very quietly. A muffled sound came from within. She waited, hand moving as if to open the door several times before she finally took a deep breath and turned the knob, chiding herself the whole way.

She peeked in, the room dark with the curtains pulled tight so that only a sliver of light from the lamps outside made it in. Belle had to blink for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the room. She looked around, finding shadows rather than objects and finally turned to the bed itself to find him tangled in the sheets as if he'd been thrashing about in his sleep. His eyes were closed, the soft sound of the door brushing against the floor not having woken him and as she stepped closer she could see that his brows were drawn together and his the skin over his knuckles was taught as he gripped his hand into a fist. She knew that she should either wake him or let him be, but she couldn't bear to move in either direction. Her heart broke as he let out a strangled noise, flying out of the bed with such speed that she gave a startled gasp.

He froze there, hand reaching out for something or someone that had dissipated with the dream. Belle couldn't quite make out the name that had left his lips as he jolted awake, but she whispered his as she took a cautious step forward, trying not to startle him any further. "Rumple?"

Dark, haunted eyes turned towards her and his entire frame shook with each breath he took. "What are you doing in here?" he asked at last, voice unsteady even as he looked to be trying to remain calm.

"I… I'm sorry. I couldn't find you and so I went looking and…"

Rumplestiltskin let loose a long breath, closing his eyes briefly as he fought and gained control. When he opened them again he reached a hand out to her and she could see it was the only thing still trembling slightly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Belle took it, feeling his warm hand wrap around hers and he pulled her a little closer to the bedside. He looked so vulnerable in that moment with sleep's hold not entirely loosened and a nightmare freshly seared into his mind. Belle found herself kneeling against the mattress and she wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He relaxed after a moment, his head dropping to her shoulder and he leaned into the embrace.

"Talk to me, Rumple," she pleaded quietly. She could see the internal war raging. He wanted - _needed_ - to get whatever this was out, but they were hitting the same wall of fear that they always hit. He was afraid of opening up to her. "Please talk to me."

He sighed in her embrace. "You asked me once if I dreamed. Do you remember that?"

"I do." She loosened her hold on him, perching on the bed next to him. When he looked ready to back down from the words, she reached up and touched his face in encouragement.

Perhaps it was simply too late and he was too tired to scurry entirely back behind his walls. "The reason I didn't sleep was because I would dream. I knew I would, and since the curse broke... Well, let's just say that my failures haunt my dreams." He paused, gathering himself. "I don't have my old options, either. I may still be the Dark One, but it works differently here, as you've seen."

She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss in his lips. "How can I help you?"

A short chuckle left his throat, low and empty. "My dear," he murmured, his dark eyes catching her bright blue ones. They seemed to shine against the deep shadows of his room. That was his Belle: his light in the darkness. "I'm afraid there's no turning back the clock for me. There are things that can't be undone."

She smiled at this. "That doesn't mean that you can't choose the right path from here. I have faith in you, Rumplestiltskin. You can be the good man that you keep so deeply hidden if you just choose to."

He stared at her until a slow, careful smile stretched his thin lips. "I fear that I can't share your faith, sweetheart."

"Then I'll just stand by your side and remind you."

"I don't deserve you," he whispered, his words filling the room with rare and full honesty of how he felt.

"It's not about deserving. I love you and you love me. We help each other."

Rumplestiltskin leaned forward, his lips pressing against her forehead. "Thank you, m'dear. You should get some sleep, shouldn't you? It's late."

Belle ducked her head, her cheeks flushing suddenly even in the shadows. "Would it help if I stay?"

Silence followed her words and she felt the blush spread. "I just thought... If you had another nightmare I could be here. For you. To remind you that it will be alright. To remind you that you don't have to hide in the darkness anymore."

When she risked a look up she found him staring, wearing the same expression she'd seen both in this world and theirs when she had fully startled him. She shifted, one bare foot finding the floor behind her as she began to stand. She couldn't expect all the walls to fall at once, she supposed. "If you don't want me to stay, of course, I shouldn't want to intrude."

He reached out then, his hand grabbing for hers. "No intrusion," he murmured.

A smile broke out on her face and she hopped back onto the bed and under the covers. She fit perfectly, she thought as she nestled down, her face against the soft material of his pajama top. She heard him sigh when she was settled and he wrapped his arm around her. He could be strong with her beside him. He could be brave.


	5. The Coward in the Mirror

A/N: So this is based sometime after the curse is broken in Storybrooke, but before they reach Emma. I have a few theories formulating on what may happen, but nothing concrete. This is just something that I could see in their travels to get to Emma (mostly because I _refuse_ to believe that Rumple is dead). I'm toying with an idea for a multi-chapter fix that has to do with some of my theories, but I haven't gotten far enough into working them out yet to put it up. If so, this may become part of it and it might change slightly. Either way, I thought it'd be a good addition to this collection of one-shots.

* * *

**The Coward in the Mirror**

Belle had once told him that she believed he covered all the mirrors in his castle because he thought he was uglier than he was. She was wrong, though he didn't have the heart - or lack of heart - to tell her then. He was deep enough in darkness that it made him ugly enough that he _should_ shy away from his own reflection, but that wasn't the reason he covered them at all. They let in weakness.

Not just the queen.

Eyes were the mirrors to the soul, though certain mirror - mirrors as they faced now - could let you view one's soul openly. Like a wound gaping for all to see.

Dark.

Dangerous.

Pain filled.

"What is this place?" Snow White asked, holding the torch she was carrying a little higher.

"The Cave of Mirrors. It's said that they can reflect your true self." It was Regina that had answered her, voice bordering on cautious. "Your happiness, your greatest fears, your truest loves… Whatever your soul clings to."

"I thought this place was a myth," Charming murmured.

"Well, the World Without Magic thinks we're all myths, remember?" Baelfire groused. "Pop, you okay?"

Rumplestiltskin startled as his son's hand closed around his shoulder, bringing him out of his own thoughts. He'd heard of this place, though he'd never ventured here himself. He wouldn't have dared. If their goal didn't lie on the other side of the cave with no other way around it, he wouldn't have bothered entering at this point either. "A soul's strongest breaths are felt here," he whispered, dark eyes wandering down the pathway. The mirrors hadn't caught a reflection of them yet.

Snow White took her husband's hand. "We'll be okay," she promised them all. "We're all strong here. We'll face our fears together."

"Touching," Regina snarked, taking a step forward. The tap of her heel against the smoothed rock echoed throughout the passageway and she looked to steel herself. Rumple didn't know what she had to fear. She regretted nothing in the end. That had always been her greatest strength.

Bae's hand hadn't left his father's shoulder, still latched onto the rough material there. It was a simple cloak, not quite as ragged as he'd once worn as a spinner in a Frontland's village, but it certainly didn't have the splendor of something the Dark One would have reveled in. He was caught somewhere between, a man without access to his full powers that he had enjoyed for the prior three or so centuries, but with so much more at his fingertips. He reached up and grasped Bae's wrist briefly, trying to anchor himself against the rising fear. He didn't want to see what would be seen there. More importantly, he didn't want the others to view his laid-open soul.

It was Belle who took his hand when he'd loosed his grip on his son so that they could move forward. She squeezed it gently, those blue eyes promising that, no matter what, everything would be okay. She and Bae would stand beside him, no matter what. If the entire world fell down into a pit, threatening to leave Rumplestiltskin alone on a hill without a friend in sight, they would be with him, each holding either hand and steadying him.

_You made me stronger._

He gripped her fingers in his, his other hand tightening around his walking stick in his right hand as they started forward. It tapped, much like Regina's boots, as if announcing his presence. Here is the Coward. Here is the Dark One. The One That Let His Own Son Go. The One That Let Him Fall. The Man That Ran. He felt it welling up inside of him even as Belle tightened her grip and they worked their way through.

The mirrors showed nothing at first, as if each person were shielding their thoughts. Regina was, Rumple was sure. She was good at that. He'd taught her well, even if he'd never quite mastered it himself. Oh, he could mask it, certainly, with a well-placed laugh, a quip, or a dramatic wave of the hand. That didn't make it real.

Bae paused at his side and Rumple stopped as he did, turning. His son's eyes were fixated on a mirror, and as he was about to tell him to move along, not to bother with it, the image showed. A dark alleyway, a typewriter with his name scrawled across the parchment, Emma - younger than they all knew her - standing alone with a cage around her. Her eyes held all the betrayal in the worlds. She turned to Bae - to her Neal - and she reached out, palm pressed against the mirror, "You used me," she whispered, and Bae stumbled back from it. "You betrayed me... and Henry." Their son appeared at her side.

"It's an illusion, son," Rumplestiltskin promised, risking his hold on Belle to offer a hand to Bae.

"But it's true."

"No it's not. Emma knew you love her. Knew your love the boy. Don't let it fool you, Bae. It's meant to fool you."

"What's that?" Snow asked and Rumple risked a look.

The mirror's glass had been directly in front of him and he was now looking straight into the scene. Campfires and screams. Those wounded and a man that had no hope left, screaming and rattling an empty cage. The seer's words echoed around him - around all of them - and spoke of his wife being with child. He would have a son and he would leave the boy fatherless. The image-Rumplestiltskin shook the cage, screaming and howling in despair as he found it empty. He could feel those standing around him cringe, even in the dim light of a couple of torches and rows and rows of mirrors. His hand, having dropped from his son's arm, was hanging loosely now, and gripped his own staff in his other hand, holding himself up by it. Suddenly he felt weak on his feet, like his knees would give way beneath him.

He heard Snow White let out a gasp as the poor soul - grasping at any hope that he had - in the mirror looked to mallet next to the cage and swung in, crying out in pain as his ankle shattered beneath the blow. Rumple felt a twinge in his right leg, starting in that same spot and it worked its way up. He leaned heavily, knuckles white as he gripped the wood beneath his fingers.

The former Dark One felt eyes on him, the utter emotion from the scene pulsing outward from the mirror. It engulfed them, taking over them, and he felt he might collapse beneath it.

He was a coward.

"Papa," Bae murmured and his father flinched away from the touch, still caught up in the scene with silent tears streaming down pale cheeks. "You said it's meant to fool you."

"It's real though, isn't it, Rumple?"

Rumplestiltskin turned wide, haunted eyes on Belle, finding her looking at him honestly. She gave a small smile, the one that told him that she was about to issue a brand of encouragement that he should pay attention to. "It hurts to watch, but if you _really_ look at it, knowing what it means, it means _so_ much more."

Charming let out a breath that said that he didn't understand, but didn't want to risk asking.

"It means what it's always meant," Rumplestiltskin managed. "It means I'm a coward."

Belle let out a laugh in the form of a snort. "Rumple," she admonished, "that's not it at all. It means that you were _brave_. Brave enough to do _anything_ to get back to your son. To get back to Baelfire. And you did. Look at where we're at. You found him, and he found you, and…" She sniffed, gripping his hand like it was her tether to everything in that world. "And we're going to be okay, Rumple."

"You think I was brave?" he whispered, voice barely audible amongst the depths of silence that surrounded them.

She smiled, leaning up on her toes and pressing a kiss against his thin lips. She lingered there only briefly before breaking it, finding those dark eyes - so much more human that she'd seen in the Dark Castle when she'd first gotten to know him - staring back at her desperately. "I _know_ you were brave. How could I question it? You did everything for him. To go home to him. No matter what anyone would say."

The tears were flowing freely now, and Rumple hated himself for it on one level, but it was crushed by the weight of her truths. It made it okay, somehow, to cry at that moment, even in front of the Charmings and Regina, and Bae. His Belle thought he was brave. She thought he was brave for risking everything that was considered important in the culture he'd lived in… all in order to return to his son. Her hands went to either side of his face and she thumbed away the tears as they fell, her own mirroring his. The mirrors didn't need to bear her soul, because she was laying it open before him now in the echoes of his own pain.

Rumplestiltskin wrapped his arms around Belle and pulled her close, kissing her hair softly. "Thank you," he whispered against her ear. "Thank you."

* * *

A/N: Rumplestiltskin needs to live just so we can continue on the emotional roller coster that _is_ Rumbelle.


	6. Strength

Notes: I think I'm a bit fascinated with this... Not necessarily connected to the other one shots that border on the same topic.

* * *

**Stronger**

She was terribly distracting. He wondered if she knew that. The way that her eyes lingered on him, not in any accusation as most did when they hesitated for a moment, or with any ill will. They studied him. Deeply.

There was a question she was looking for the answer to, but something kept her from voicing it. Not fear. Not his Belle. No, he'd never met a soul braver than she. The moment she realized that she feared something was the very moment that she walked straight up to it and confronted it.

_Do the brave thing and bravery would follow._

Rumplestiltskin sucked in a deep, steadying breath. He set down the antique he'd been working on and glanced back to where she was perched up the edge of an empty table, her legs swinging ever-so-slightly as her feet did not reach the ground. Blue eyes never wavered as they met brown, and he could see her dying to ask.

He let the breath out in the form of a sigh, all the irritation that he would have given anyone else turned to a fondness that could not be matched. "My dear Belle, you look like you might burst if you don't ask what it is you're wanting to ask."

She chewed on her lip, as if forcing herself to think it through one last time. So it was something personal. _Very_ personal. She was nervous she would step into forbidden territory.

Long, thin fingers reached for a towel and Rumple began to clean the solution he'd been working with from his hands. "Sweetheart, you can ask me anything."

She beamed at the petname, sliding off the table and crossing the space between them. Her hands were on his shoulders then, her touch light, but he could feel it all the way through. It took everything he had not to go rigidly still as he had nearly every time she'd touched him during their time in the Enchanted Forest. He could count them, moment by moment, touch by touch. They were logged back in his mind. Each second. Each feeling.

"This may be strange," she began, but he shook his head.

"Anything," he promised, even if they both knew that didn't mean he'd answer. At least he was _trying_.

"Back home, in your castle, I mean-" Home was his castle? He reminded himself that exhaling was just as important as inhaling - "there was nothing wrong with your leg. Did something happen here? Were you hurt?"

And then his breath left him for an entirely different reason. Panic. That bubbling panic that he could feel in the pit of his stomach, rising through his chest and his throat, threatening to send him running. He pulled another breath in and let it out, a bit harsher than he meant to, and her hands pulled away from his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, did I touch on something-"

"Yes," he cut her off, regretting his tone even as it left his lips. He looked back and didn't miss the injured expression. "I'm sorry, dear," he murmured quickly, "I didn't mean to be short." He reached up and caught her hand. She didn't resist. In fact, she returned the grip, firm and more sure.

A smile tilted her painted lips upward. "It's from there, isn't it? From home? Before your curse? Did it have to do…" She stopped, but pulled together her own courage to finish. "Did it have to do with Baelfire?"

"Yes," he whispered, hating the broken sound to his own voice. It cracked, like ice about to shatter and plunge them into the frigid waters.

"Will you tell me about it?"

He tightened his grip. He didn't want to. She already knew he was a coward. Why should he only affirm those pieces of knowledge?

"Please, Rumple. You may not be the only person I shall ever know anymore, but I still want to know _you_."

His mistake was looking into her eyes. That's where his resolve melted. He'd spent centuries building walls and barriers to hide behind. A quip, a sarcastic line or a laugh that set everyone on edge. But she tore it all down like it was nothing. The thing that frightened him even more was that she seemed willing to help him put the pieces back together into something stronger. After a lifetime of either being ridiculed or pushing others away, he didn't know what to do with that.

"I… It's an old injury, from an old war many, many years past. Long before you were born, sweetheart."

"You were in a war?"

"Sort of."

She giggled at this. "How are you _sort of_ in a war?"

"I never actually fought."

Belle knelt down in front of him and he could tell that she was looking straight through him. In the back little corner of his shop, she saw every pain playing through those dark eyes that should be been left behind centuries ago. "And you still carry it with you?"

"Well, it's not like I chose to…" Chose to what? Be an invalid? He had. It had been his own grip against that hammer and his own muscles tensing as he'd swung it, knowing what was on the other end. A baby boy's cries that he'd never heard had filled his mind that night, making his own more bearable. He was going home to his son. "It's not like I chose to carry it with me."

She was still smiling at him. "Maybe you did."

"And to what purpose?"

"I don't know. A reminder. Of who you're here for. Of who you're looking for."

Her hands were tugging at the cuff of his pants now and he resisted the urge to pull back sharply. "Belle..?"

"Please," was all she said and it was enough. He grit his teeth and let her fingers work down his sock. He hadn't let his own eyes linger there, not even during the curse. The scarring wasn't nearly as bad now as it had been in their world. Medicines were better here, and Mr. Gold had been involved in a bad car crash that had left him with a shattered right ankle. He could remember what really happened now, but hadn't bothered to linger on it in a great many years. The sound of the bone shattering had been deafening, his thoughts of Bae the only thing that had kept him from swinging wide at the last moment. The bone had gone through the skin, leaving nasty and jagged marks. The doctor that had set it - poorly - had done him no favours.

Belle's fingers were gentle, ghosting over the scars there. He wagered they'd grown worse again as his memories had returned.

"You have more strength than you know," she said suddenly, tugging his slacks back into place. She stood, a smile gracing her lips through the tears that threatened. "More strength than you let yourself know. Maybe someday you'll see it too."

Rumple didn't know what to say, so he did what he so rarely managed to do: remained silent. His fingers found the side of her face and tangled themselves in her hair. She leaned down and when they kissed he found he could imagine himself stronger with her by his side.


	7. Fevers

**Fevers**

He'd thought she was crying again when he first heard the sound. Those mournful wails that made him wonder what had ever possessed him to bring her there. She was a _princess_, not a maid. The fact that she knew how to hold a broom, much less use it, was a surprise. She'd most likely had maids of her own, along with servants and others that she'd had do everything that he'd commanded her to do. It was satisfying that the little cowardly, powerless spinner now sat in a castle with his money and his magic and princess-maid. He'd asked for her on a whim. Hell, he'd followed their pleading cries on a whim. He had actually planned to ignore them until he found himself standing outside those doors and posed to knock. He'd gone on with it then, thinking it might be a laugh.

Well, turned to be a bit more than that. Perhaps he was going just mad enough that the whim had been taken too far.

Rumplestiltskin's hands finally paused on the wheel and and a frustrated sound erupted from his throat. "Won't she ever stop _crying_?" he shrieked into the mostly-empty castle. "I gave her a room, saved her people, gave her a pillow to block the _damn crying_! Does she use it? No!"

He was standing outside the cell now, not knowing quite when he'd told his magic to take him there. With a forced breath, he regained control before throwing the door open, fully intent on letting her know exactly how irritated he was.

Then he stopped. Posed and ready for a show, Rumplestiltskin's hands fell to his side and his face went slack, gold eyes coming to rest on the girl that was curled up on the tiny cot in the corner, holding the pillow in her grip, and coughing painfully into it. Those hadn't been sobs, they were hacking coughs. His resolve to do something terrible melted and he stepped in cautiously.

It had been a very long time since he'd been around illness. Every great once and a while someone would call on him for a sick family member, but for some reason that was a rarity. It was always for riches or war or - his personal favourite - power. Perhaps they inherently knew his bedside manners were lacking.

The girl didn't seem to notice that he'd walked in and he stood in the middle of the cell, looking down at her. "Stop that now," he said without any malice in his voice. "No need for all that."

She didn't stir at the sound of his voice, nor even when he knelt down next to the cot. She was radiating heat and he could see beads of sweat standing out against her pretty auburn hair. The last bit of show washed out of him as he leaned closer, checking to hear her pulling in wheezing breaths and she moaned softly as he laid the faintest of touches against her forehead.

For the first time… ever… Rumplestiltskin realized that the room was freezing. It didn't bother him. No weather change really bothered him, but he could vaguely remember some two and half centuries before when the snows brought chills through a tiny village and the people were lucky to come out on the otherside. A castle made of stone in the mountains was no different. Not really.

When he was sure she wouldn't wake he leaned over and carefully scooped her up. The heat was uncomfortable - or was that just the closeness of another human being? - and he moved quickly as he took her up the steps to one of the many open rooms in his castle. He couldn't imagine why he kept them furnished, but they were, the extravagance that no one would ever see was his way that he could thumb his nose at those that had forcibly knelt him to the ground and made their brutish demands.

_Kiss my boot._

Those men were long-dead now, either by his hand or by old age. It didn't matter. Humans lived and humans died. He would have too, once.

With only a look a fire leapt into being in the fireplace, filling the guest room in a castle that never housed guests with warmth. He eased her into the bed, pulling the covers up nearly to her chin. He couldn't imagine why he bothered to turn as his magic moved around her, replacing the once-beautiful gold dress with something more comfortable to sleep in. He was a monster, shouldn't he be expected to act as such?

She moaned in her sleep, turning and burying her face into the soft pillow beneath her. "Dreams of home, dearie?" he whispered.

Blue eyes blinked drowsily open and he couldn't be sure that focus was what he'd call how they came to look at him. She recognized him, but didn't seem startled by his presence. "Is it morning?" she rasped, her voice coming out in the most terrible of ways.

"No," the Dark One murmured. "Still night. Go back to sleep."

"I don't feel well," she managed, her eyes slipping closed again.

"I know, sweetheart." He didn't know what could have possibly overcome him to allow for such kindness in his voice. It was an odd mixture that he was sure he'd never heard from himself. Not in a very long time, at any rate.

"'m thirsty."

Water. Water he could handle. A glass full of it was suddenly in his hand and his brows knit as he thought about how to get it down her throat. Slowly, unsure, he sat on the edge of the bed. She let him ease her up and drank it without complaint. Then she nestled down, his lap her knew pillow. "Thank you, Rumple," she whispered and he blinked at her. She hardly called him by his full name, much less any sort of nickname.

"Just sleep, dear," he urged and set the water aside.

He couldn't move without waking her and so he stayed. He couldn't explain it, but he stayed. The minutes ticked by, turning to hours, and he dozed off with his head lolled against the headboard.

Neither of them stirred until morning when she woke to found herself curled up in the lap of the beast that had taken her from her home. He hardly looked beastly now in his sleep, gold eyes closed and breathing regular. He looked almost like a man. A very lonely man that hid behind thick, strongly built walls and wild escapades meant to make him forget all that loneliness. She smiled at him, fever still burning her skin, and reached a hand for his. A beast wouldn't have bothered with a silly girl like her.

* * *

Belle woke some collection of hours later. Her head was clearer now and she found herself alone in a bed she didn't recognize. The fire had burned low in its place and when she finally pulled herself together enough to toss off the sheets, she felt a blush creep up that she was in a sleeping gown.

Then memories stirred. Rumplestiltskin whisking her away to a more comfortable arrangement and… Had he sat with her? All night? Perhaps longer? She couldn't be sure if she had seen what she thought she saw, but as she looked down at her hand she thought that it looked just the right size to have fit into his like her hazy memories told her it had.

A sigh escaped her and she turned to the door. A blue dress hung on the partially opened door of the wardrobe and she changed quickly, pulling a shawl around her shoulders that had also been left there.

It felt good to move, to stretch, and to walk down the corridors. She lost her way twice, not having recognized the room from her cleaning rounds. It must have been one she hadn't found yet. Finally, though, she found the main hall and heard the spinning wheel creaking on the other side of the ornate doors. It brought a smile to her face and she pushed the doors open, revealing the very same man from her dreams. "Good morning, Rumplestiltskin," she greeted.

"Morning? Try evening, dearie. Asleep all day. Wish someone had told me I was getting that when I traded a victory for a maid."

She found herself laughing at him. "I'm feeling much better, thank you."

He smiled at her then, playful and light and she knew he wasn't truly angry. He broke the gaze they shared first, gold eyes turning back to his work and focused there.

"Thank you for the new dress."

There was a small pause, barely noticeable before he continued on, mumbling some excuse or another. She giggled at him, gaining his attention back only when she pulled _his_ chair from the head of the long table so that she could sit in it next to him. "And for my new room," she added.

"Well… bit of a waste to have your maid ill all the time from the draft," he tried.

She shook her head and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his thin shoulders. He froze, just as he had when she'd hugged him on that hill overlooking Robin Hood and his wife. Every muscle felt rigid beneath her, like he might simply shatter. "Thank you," she said again before finally releasing him. He didn't move as she left, nor did he speak, but could feel his eyes on her as she walked out of the room.


	8. Forever

Notes: Set vaguely sometime after they return to Storybrooke... Random future fic.

* * *

**Forever.**

_Back to normal_ was really an absurd concept. Something had to be considered normal to go back to it, and Belle wasn't entirely sure which place would qualify. For a group of people with two worlds in their heads it could be difficult to choose which one you prefer, or even if you do. While she had had only the briefest of stints with her alternate persona - she really was not a fan of Lacey, if she had to be quite frank about it - it was still enough to solidify the answers to the questions that she'd nearly drowned Rumple in when the Curse had broken and all she'd been left with were her memories from the Enchanted Forest. _What is a refrigerator and how does it stay cold? Why is it so important to keep the door closed on it? Is it magic?_ They had been things that his cursed memories provided without delay, things that never even seemed to phase him, and he'd done his best to not make her feel silly about asking.

_Have you ever had a hamburger?_

There was something nice about life in Storybrooke, though. In the Enchanted Forest it seemed that there was always a new threat around each corner. Ogres and evil wizards and witches alike. That wasn't to say that there were no threats there in the Land Without Magic. Quite the opposite, actually, but it seemed like the threats were a little further away. A little more over the horizon. They could _breathe_ for at least five minutes. It was most likely a false sense of security, but one that they all had a habit of clinging to. Being thrown back into it made them cling even harder. Security would be nice, after all. Adventures were fun and exciting, but so were family and friends and everything that they couldn't seem to enjoy without threats looming.

Nerves were pulled taught upon re-arrival and it had been Henry that had put forth the idea that Belle was currently working on: a ball. It would be the melding of the two worlds, he'd said cheerfully, showing her his drawings and explaining details that could have only come from the most creative of minds. He'd volunteered an old warehouse in town that hadn't been used as long as anyone could remember - in other words, it had likely never been used - for their location, and as Rumple was, of course, the owner of the property, it helped that Belle and Henry were the two doing the asking. It hadn't taken much once they'd started in on him.

Belle had been happily surprised at how easily the others had fallen into helping. Snow had jumped on board first, the idea of a ball something that she could certainly get behind and she'd pulled several of the other princesses that were brought in with them along for the decorating ride. She'd been locked away with them for a week putting it all together, barely getting out even to her library that was just about to be up in running order again. She hadn't meant to assume, but she had, so when she'd mentioned the dance to Rumple and he'd told her he wouldn't be there it had come as a bit of a surprise.

"I don't dance," he had said, bent over something he was working on in the back room of his shop. As much as she had been involved in trying to find something beyond the looming fear that the Witch would come from them there just as she'd been ready to in the Enchanted Forest, she'd wager he'd been locked away preparing for the worst.

"Not at all?" she'd sputtered, stopping at his shoulder and trying to catch his attention. He was ignoring her and she knew it. He had a certain way of avoiding eye contact only with her when he didn't want to be roped into something. He could look anyone else in the eye and say no without a flinch, but it took a great deal of restraint when it came to denying a request from her lips.

"Bit difficult for me, sweetheart," he'd murmured, reaching out to tap the cane that was leaned up against the work table.

"Oh," she'd breathed and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "That doesn't mean you can't come keep me company."

Belle had known that her last statement had been a long-shot, even when he'd looked up, dark eyes tired from straining after what must have been a particularly complex spell he was working with. They'd left it at that and that had been earlier that afternoon, so she wasn't surprised to find a distinct lack of Rumplestiltskin when the ball began. He really wasn't one for attending these sorts of things for the reasons that they were put on.

There was something about their memories being in place that seemed to carry a bit of the Enchanted Forest into the old warehouse. No matter if they were royalty or townsfolk, each person seemed to bring with them a bit more grace in their posture and the way that they moved on the dancefloor. It left Belle feeling wistful, swaying slightly by herself as she looked on to her pet project. Everyone seemed so happy that she couldn't help but join in on it, even if part of her felt a tug back to the opposite side of town where she knew that her love was busying himself with anything other than the social affair.

"You're Belle, aren't you?"

Blue eyes blinked owlishly and she hadn't meant to look so startled by the voice. She turned to see a pretty blonde woman, her hair piled on her head in a distinctly old fashion. Her face was young, barely out of her teens and she gave a rather timid smile that reminded the lord's daughter of one that had risen up in the ranks of society, not having been born to them. She had a certain fondness for people that defied traditional standings. "Yes, I am," she said at last, realizing that she hadn't answered the question.

The woman smiled at this. "I'm Ella. Or Ashley. It really just depends on who you ask. Snow said you were the one that put all this together."

"Well, she had a lot to do with it too," Belle laughed, pushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "And Henry was the one that started it all."

"Well, it's very beautiful. Thomas and I never really get to get out. He was so involved with the councils back home and here it's almost as non-stop as the Enchanted Forest. I just wanted to thank you for giving us a chance to breathe."

"I'm glad I could help," Belle answered cheerfully.

"Where is he?"

Both women looked down to see Henry standing between them, arms crossed across his chest and looking quite dashing in his suit. At thirteen he still had enough of his childhood left to look a little out of place in it, but his heritage seemed to have allowed for the balance. It was certainly something that David had picked out for him, not Bae.

"Where's who, dear?" Ella asked kindly.

"My grandpa."

"David's over there with your grandmother. See?"

Henry sighed. "No, my _other_ grandpa." He turned dark eyes to Belle. "He was supposed to come and dance with you tonight."

"Was he?" Belle managed, feeling the heat rise to her face. "He said he wouldn't be able to make it."

"Is this your father's father? I'm afraid I haven't met him yet," Ella said, glancing over to where Emma was tentatively talking with the dark haired man that had been, at least in whispers, said to be her son's father. "Neal, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah. Sort of. That's what he goes by now. His name in the Enchanted Forest was Baelfire, but I guess that was kind of a mouthful or something when he came through." An idea seemed to strike the boy and he looked up to Belle. "But he has to be here. Do you think if we called he'd just come, like in my book?"

The idea sent the auburn haired princess into a near fit of giggles. "I think it's best we don't try it." She looked over to a very confused Ella. "His father's father is Rumplestiltskin," she said by way of explanation.

"Oh," Ella breathed, growing pale at the name. "Well, maybe it's best that he doesn't come tonight after all, Henry. There's no reason anyone should be uncomfortable."

The boy didn't have a chance to argue as the blonde woman excused herself and Belle stopped him from chasing after the incident. Since the family connection had been made it seemed that Henry was willing to defend his grandpa to anyone that would listen. He'd saved his life and everyone in Storybrooke, he had been known to tell people proudly. That was just one of the many joys of Henry: hero or villain in the past, it really didn't matter to him as long as the person was trying to do their best from that point forward.

"So why is it so important that Rumple and I dance tonight?"

Dark eyes - just a younger version of Bae's and Rumple's own - darted up to meet blue. "Oh, no reason."

"I hardly believe that. You're a very clever boy and if you thought something was bound to happen tonight then you had very good reason to hope for it."

Henry sighed. "It was stupid."

"Let me be the judge of that."

That's when the whole story tumbled from the boy's lips. He'd explained to her and she'd seen it herself while living in Storybrooke, that their stories had been left to myths and legends and fairy tales alike. They'd been altered and combined, sometimes one person's story made into several different ones and sometimes three people's stories made into one. It was impressive the length that the Land Without Magic went to to explain away the magical stories of the Enchanted Forest, and as Henry continued on about one particular interpretation - not in his book, he reminded her - a memory struck her. They'd decorated the warehouse partially from Henry's designs, but now that she thought about it she'd seen those designs before. Well, perhaps she hadn't _actually_ seen them, but her cursed memories told her she had. Lacey had seen them as a little girl, watching as a beautiful young woman in a gold dress danced with a beast across the movie screen. Beauty and the Beast.

"Oh Henry," she breathed, realizing the connection he'd made in his mind.

"Told you it was stupid," he grumbled and she couldn't resist reaching out to put a hand on his slim shoulder.

"It's not stupid at all. It's sweet."

"But you still don't think he's coming."

She sighed, pulling together all of her courage as she bent down to speak directly to him so that no one else could overhear. "I'll tell you a secret. Do you want to hear it?"

"Sure."

"As uncomfortable as others are around Rumple, your grandpa does not handle it as well as he'd like you to believe he does. Oh, he puts on a good show, but at the end of the day he's quieter than you might think. All of this-" she motioned to the ball and the dresses and the princes dancing with their princesses - "would make _him_ uncomfortable."

"He's scared?"

"I wouldn't put it that way to him but… maybe. In a way."

A surprising grin spread out across Henry's face. "Well that's easy enough. He's got you. There's no reason for him to be afraid. He'll come tonight. I know he will."

She didn't have it in her to tell him she didn't think so, she she just smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Now who's that over there? She's been looking this way for a few minutes now, like she wants you to ask her to dance."

Henry looked over and waved to the little girl looking his way. "That's Grace. She's Jefferson's daughter. You really think so?"

"Looks like it to me."

She watched him go, nearly skipping over and talking with the girl his age with the charisma that could have only come from the Charming line. It made her smile and she thought, even if she didn't get her dance, that this night had still been beautiful. There were places that she needed to push Rumple. They both knew that, but there were other things, things like this, that didn't need pushing.

"Quite a turnout you have here."

Belle whirled, nearly falling off her own balance with surprise at the voice she knew anywhere. He was standing there, dressed for her ball and holding a single red rose between his fingers as if she'd been expecting him.

"Rumple," she breathed. "You came."

He held the rose out to her with a slight bow, dark eyes alight with mischief and the corners of his mouth turning upward as she took it, blushing and thanking him. "I have a hard time telling you no, sweetheart," he admitted softly. "Even harder of a time sticking with it."

"I'm glad," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "You didn't have to come, but I'm very glad you did. Thank you."

The music slowed around them and he extended a hand to her. For the first time she noticed that he did not seem to have his cane with him, a spell keeping him steady on his feet. "I thought you said that when it wears off it's worse," she murmured thoughtfully.

"Well I can't properly dance with you leaning on that old thing, can I? Some things are worth a bit of pain. It'll pass."

He pulled her close, their fingers intertwined and she found that she fit perfectly against him as they moved, swaying to the music. It was beautiful, something she'd never heard before, and as the tempo picked up she could almost imagine them back in the Dark Castle - back home - in that grand ballroom that had been tucked away and useless during her stay there. For just a few moments she could pretend that they were the only ones that mattered. Distrustful glances were tamed and accusatory whispers silenced. He'd come for her, against his own solitary inclinations, and she knew what that meant even if no one else would.

A happy sigh escaped her and she leaned her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heart beneath her ear. "I love you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the music, but he heard it. She knew he had.

"And I love you," he answered and kissed the top of her head.

She risked a glance up, finding dark brown eyes watching her. "Forever?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"Well, that _is_ the deal we made," he chuckled. "Though I believe I've gotten the better end of this bargain."

Belle snorted softly, not wanting to break the moment by arguing with him. She had him forever and that was all she needed to know.


	9. The Mess

Notes: Hat tip to Robin4. I was re-reading the first couple chapters of her fantastic story Original Powers last night and in the first chapter there's a comment about Belle thinking about what made the Dark Castle home, including experiments gone wrong. This little piece popped into my head. So kudos, Robin4! And if you haven't read her fantastic stories, go do it now! You won't regret it for an instant!

* * *

**The Mess**

She'd never seen magic up close until she'd stepped foot into his castle. Even when he'd swooped in like some sort of phantom, past the guards and the soldiers and the locked doors alike, her back had been turned when he transported himself into her father's chair. Nor had she actually seen him win the war, but, supposedly, as long as your end of the deal was upheld, Rumplestiltskin never went back on his.

Now magic was commonplace: a corridor that moved of its own will or a footstool that didn't want to be used. She could have sworn, once he'd given her an _actual_ room, that the wardrobe had moved once of its own accord.

One of her most hated projects that she'd taken on not long after she'd come to live with him was cleaning his work space. Not the spinning wheel, no, that was easy enough because he'd simply told her to stay away from it. It was the vials and flasks that made her skin crawl. They were always coated with goop of all colour and consistency. Some of it was thick, impossible to scrub off unless it soaked for hours beforehand, and the contents of one bowl looked suspiciously like blood. She'd opened a box to peek inside and screams had erupted from it. She'd snapped it shut too quickly to see if anything was actually inside or it had just been another source of entertainment for him.

Today he was working on something though. Belle found him bent over, shoulders hunched in such a way that it looked like he'd been there long enough that even he had begun to feel it, and looking intently at the smoking contents of a flask through a magnifying glass.

Rumplestiltskin didn't seem to notice her at first, so she hovered at the top of the steps, watching, mop in one hand and bucket of water in the other.

He hummed to himself as he shifted on his stool, groping to his left for a spool of spun gold without bothering to take a moment to look for it. He pulled a piece, snipped it, and dropped it carefully into the flask. The smoke stopped entirely, revealing a blue liquid clearer than any ocean.

"What have I told you about spying on me, dearie?" he asked suddenly, still not bothering to turn to her.

Belle felt her cheeks heat. "I wasn't spying," she argued. "I was watching. I've never seen someone work a potion before."

"Well, if you've got so much time on your hands, I'm sure we can - Oh." He'd spun at the end and she held up the mop and bucket with an innocent smile. "Find some other room to clean."

"I've cleaned them all. You've been held up in here for five days."

He looked startled at that. "Really?"

"Really." She stepped forward, setting her cleaning materials to the side and looking curiously at what he'd been working on. "Could you show me?"

He flashed her a impish grin. "Looking to add a bit of dark magic to your studies, dearie?"

Belle resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "No. I shouldn't think I'd be very good at it, but if it's had your usually short attention for this long, it must be very fascinating. May I see it?"

She was close to him now and he went rigid as he had a habit of doing. He looked up at her from his perch, weighing his options. If he'd meant to return with another snarky jab, it died in his throat and he shrugged instead, the movement stiff. "It's nothing fascinating, I'd say, just time consuming. Cures are some of the most difficult potions to mix. Magic has many rules to it, dearie, and breaking them, even bending them, can be costly."

"That's a cure? Can it save someone's life?"

"It will."

Belle's eyes widened and she smiled at him. "And you say you're a monster," she teased.

"Oh, I was paid very handsomely for this, dearie, don't think I wasn't. This though -" he leaned so far to one side that she thought he might tip to stool over as he grabbed for another bubbling concoction and his grin returned - "is fun."

She laughed at his expression, but the smell that wafted from the mixture and the tarry blackness of it instantly stole her amusement. Belle pinched her nose. "What is it?"

Rumplestiltskin looked like a child receiving a gift. His amber eyes were bright with excitement and his hands moved as he spoke, listing off the ingredients that had been put into it, half of which his princess-maid had never heard of before. She listened, trying not to gag at the smell, and trying to look as interested in this as she had in the cure.

"But what does it _do_?" she asked at last, halting his increasingly bouncy speech.

"Haven't the faintest."

"_What_?" Belle nearly shouted. "You're just mixing in things and hoping something comes of it?"

"Well… yes."

She couldn't tell if he were playing her or not with that terrible attempt at an innocent expression. "How have you not blown up the castle yet?"

"Would you like to see what it does?"

She should say no, for her own sake and his, but her blue gaze shifted back to the bubbling goop and she found herself nodding instead of shaking her head as she'd strictly told herself to. He giggled at her and popped off his seat to grab several unmarked flasks from his shelf. Uncorking them he added a pinch of one, a shake of another and half the contents of the last. The solution bubbled with more ferocity than before, popping and smoldering and stinking up the whole room. They watched it for a moment, fixated, and Belle thought she saw a small hand reach up from it for just a moment before it exploded, the black muck splattering against her skin. She cringed and started to try to scrub it off. When she turned her attention back to Rumplestiltskin, his expression had melted into one of worry.

Belle didn't have a chance to ask before he saw something he didn't like and he was up from his seat in an instant. He grabbed her by the wrist, the rare contact initiated by him taking her by surprise, and hauled off running towards the steps. They were halfway down them when an explosion rocked the tower and the black, tarry goop rained down on them from above as well as through the railings of the stairs.

They stood there for a moment, silence their companion as they didn't dare touch anything. They were covered from head to toe in the stuff that smelt no better out of the pot it had been boiling in.

"Well," he drawled after a long moment, reaching up to try to scrub some of it off his face, "you _were_ here to clean."

Her look of pure fury made even the Dark One take a step back.

Belle took a steadying breath, resisting the urge to throttle him. Instead she motioned for him to remain where he was, dangerous implications of what would happen if he was not there when she returned clinging as steadily as the muck. She walked out the door and he watched her, doing everything he could to scrub it from his skin once she was out of sight. It wouldn't budge, even when he tried to magic it away. This could take a while.

She returned some few minutes later, finding him inspecting his dragonhide vest with a disappointed look. He blinked at her, a mop under either of her arms and a bucket of sloshing water in either hand. She'd grabbed an apron, the only clean part of her, and in either pocket were brushes for scrubbing. Belle didn't say a word as she marched right up to him, handed him one of the buckets and one of the mops, and then continued back up the stairs.

"You don't expect me to-" He snapped his mouth shut again at the look and ducked his head, torn between simply leaving her to her work or giving in. He had to admit - though only to himself, because she would _never_ hear it from him - that her unwavering courage in the face of one of the most powerful beings in the realms had won at least some respect in his books. It wasn't that he was afraid of tongue lashing he would receive if he simply faded from sight. Most certainly not.

Slowly Rumplestiltskin climbed the steps back up to his work area, bucket and mop in hand and sighed. Well, Belle wasn't the first deal he'd made that he hadn't known quite what he was getting himself into.


	10. Reasons

**Reasons**

If there was one thing that Belle had learned since the day that she'd agreed to _forever_ in her father's crumbling fortress and had been swept away to a life she could never have imagined, it was that Rumplestiltskin had a stubborn streak that could match her own. It was in these moments as he tried to busy himself with _anything_ else to avoid her request that drove her mad. His temper, violent as it could be, had never been turned fully on her. Oh, there had been shouting matches, but most of those had been left in the Enchanted Forest. Here he was quieter, his quirks showing in other ways, though she'd certainly walked into his shop before to see glass shattered everywhere after an uncontrolled fit of rage.

No, here in Storybrooke he'd often stay silent until he either conceded her view point or snapped. The snapping was the worst, though, and both tended to feel guilty after it had happened. That's when the quiet explanations would begin and Belle would catch a glimpse into the root of whatever problem they were facing. That was what they were coming to in this argument. She could feel it. The subject was one he didn't like broaching and that he'd never been willing to fully explain to her. It was a deal he'd struck after she left his castle - after he'd thrown her out - and she'd heard more from the woman who had gone back on the deal than he would ever admit himself.

He set the antique he'd been tinkering with down on his work table hard, eyes flashing with irritation. "As much as your fifteen minutes with the _lovely_ Princess Ella and her _gallant_ husband was sure to have taught you-"

"Rumple, there's no need to be sarcastic," Belle said softly, reminding herself that he only his behind walls when he felt threatened. She tried to offer him a smile and reached out and took one of his hands. "I've told Ella that she has nothing to fear from you. I only wish-"

"Why are you so intent on knowing this story now?"

She pulled in a deep breath and met his eyes. Some of his anger diffused and she felt his fingers tighten around her own. "She needs help, Rumple, but I don't know how to convince her to ask you. I know there's another side to this story, but you won't talk to me about it."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I may have no interest in helping them?" Rumplestiltskin groused. "Little Cinderella is a naive fool of a girl and her prince is a spoiled prat on his very best of days. I have no interest in-"

"Their little girl may be in trouble."

This caught his attention as she knew it would. Though few saw it, Rumple had a soft spot for most children, and it took something rather dire for him to sway from it. Apparently his distaste for Thomas and Ella was not quite that strong. "What's the matter with the girl?"

Belle sat on the edge of his desk, thankful for the opening. "Ella didn't say much - Thomas stopped her - but it sounds like little Alexandra is showing an aptitude for magic."

"How so?"

"She set their curtains on fire during a tantrum."

She didn't miss the glint of mischief that flashed through his dark eyes, nor the way his lips quirked at the corners in a satisfied smirk. She shot him a look that she couldn't quite manage to be as serious as she meant for it to be. "Rumple..."

"I know," he sighed, still amused by the mental image her words had conjured. He'd seen the child around town, all blonde curls and bright eyes. She had to be three, possibly close to four now. A toddler showing that kind of aptitude towards magic was both exciting and cause for some worry. "Bring them by the shop and I'll see what can be done."

* * *

It was a week later and an accident at Thomas' father's home before Belle could convince Ella that something needed to be done. With the promise of complete discretion between them, Belle led the blonde princess and her little girl over to Rumple's shop one early afternoon.

Ella had a death grip on Alexandra's hand as the entered, her eyes looking to every corner of the shop as if some bit of dark magic might jump out at them and rip the little girl away. She was struggling to tear free, more interested in the knickknacks than her mother's fears. "Pretty!" she announced, hand reaching out for a china doll behind the glass.

"Someone has expensive taste," Rumplestiltskin quipped as he limped his way out of the back room. The little girl's eyes were on him instantly, large and round and blue like the sky. Curiosity radiated off of her as he moved slowly, his cane tapping the wood floors. He stopped, sinking carefully to one knee so that he was on her level. "Hello there."

"Hi," she answered, suddenly shy.

He offered her a smile and with a flick of his wrist the doll that she'd admired was in his hand. "I imagine you have a few of these at home."

"She's pretty," she said again and looked back at her mother. "Please?"

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. "What a polite little girl." His eyes flickered up to Ella and she was watching him warily, almost as if she hadn't even heard her daughter. "Belle mentioned that there was a bit of a curtain incident."

The words, now directed at her, jarred the princess out of her fearful look. She blinked and nodded slowly, finally releasing her daughter's hand. "We don't know what to do. She threw a tantrum at Thomas' father's house two days ago and shattered every window in the room. I… know that you always have a price. Thomas said I shouldn't come, that the price isn't worth it, but if you're straightforward with me on what you want, I'll make good on it."

"Not the experience I've had with you before, dearie," Rumple answered and received a look he promptly ignored from Belle. "You wouldn't be able to afford my price anyway."

"So you won't help us?"

Rumplestiltskin returned his gaze to Alexandra, studying the little girl who was showing an amazing amount of restraint for a toddler who wanted something. "I never said that," he murmured and a spell washed over the doll as it passed from his hands to smaller ones.

"Mine?"

"She is indeed. Take very good care of her and she'll take good care of you." Slowly he made his way back to his feet. "The spell will keep a cap on her explosive tantrums for a while as long as she has the doll near."

Ella frowned. "I don't believe that you want nothing for it. I know magic comes with a price and you always get paid."

Rumple shrugged. "She paid me for it when she was born." He chuckled at her confused expression. "It was a bit of a round-about way of getting it, but I received a most useful debt paid from Miss Swann in return for tearing up yours and my agreement."

"You couldn't have known."

"Not the specifics, no, but enough."

"So nothing is owed to you?" Ella pressed again, not willing to believe it.

He held up a hand, palm outward. "Nothing is owed."

The princess nodded slowly and took her daughter's hand again. "Okay. Alexandra, what do we say to Mr Gold? He's given you a present."

"Thank you!" Alexandra beamed and before the wizard knew it he had a little girl nearly taking him back off his feet in a ready hug.

"You are most welcome," Rumple answered with a slow smile.

"Thank you," Ella echoed, taking hold of her daughter's hand.

Belle walked her to the door, waving her on her way before turning back to Rumplestiltskin, her eyes shining in that knowing way. "That makes more sense."

"What does, dear?"

"I couldn't imagine what you would have wanted with Ella's little girl for. She obviously had no part in the curse-"

"She had a very large part in the curse. I needed to be in that dungeon to get Emma's name and to be put in there I had to work something clever enough to thoroughly send the Charmings into a fit." He sighed, but Belle could see the amusement still shining in his eyes. "I never thought it would be so difficult to make them frightened enough to lock me away."

Belle laughed at him, crossing the space between them. "You were never going to take her, were you?"

"Never needed to, though I would appreciate that staying between us, sweetheart. I shouldn't want just anyone thinking they can get out of deals with me without facing some sort of consequence."

She continued to laugh at him and he let her, the quiet amusement never fading from his eyes. "Thank you," she whispered and laced her fingers through his.

"For what?"

"Telling me," she whispered and tipped up on her toes to press a kiss against his lips.

* * *

END

Notes: Last night's episode. Oh my gosh. I'm still not over it. I just about cried with Bae wanting to go by the Dark Castle and the Charmings' complete shutdown on it. Belle has his back, though.


	11. Dearie

Notes: I just needed some Rumbelle fluff this morning. Super short.

**Dearie**

She had heard him say that names had meaning, so it was not a great leap to think that he might acknowledge a significance to nicknames as well. It hadn't taken her long to form up a general understanding of how he viewed those he was communicating with just by listening to what he called them. They'd likely never see it, but she did.

Nearly everyone was _dearie_ to Rumplestiltskin, though sometimes _dear_. It was a name Belle had always thought of as a kind gesture, but when it fell from his lips and attached itself to most everyone without discrimination it did tend to lose that prior meaning. Kings were dearie, queens were dearie, lords and ladies and mill workers and bread makers. High born or low born, if a person approached him, they were dearie. If they wanted to strike a deal, they were dearie. She had been dearie time and time again after she agreed to go with him. It had gotten to the point that she was almost certain he'd forgotten her name, but then again, he beleived names had power. She supposed delegating everyone to the same name, no matter who they were, was a kind of power within itself. After all, who was going to tell the Dark One no?

The first time he called her by name it was rather startling. It was sharp, though not in the way his voice usually sing-songed the words he spoke. There had been nothing light about it, nothing familiar in any sort of kind way. He barked it out, voice rough and clipped as he'd raced into the room after discovering she'd let the theif go. She'd been so upset with him over the whole ordeal that she hadn't even thought about it until days later, sitting in her library that he'd given to her. Belle couldn't say why, but the fact that she remained dearie like everyone else and that the only time he'd deemed it important enough to call her given name was a fit of anger caused her chest to ache.

Looking back, though, she wasn't sure exactly when it had begun to shift. Dearie became his irritable nickname only used when she walked in on something she wasn't supposed to be a part of or pressed a subject he'd prefer left well enough alone, but she slowly became _dear_ and then it shifted into an almost affectionate _m'dear_. At some point, the latter had even begun to be accompanied by what she was sure was a more genuine smile than he gave most. It pulled the edges of his thin lips out and tilted them up ever so slightly, the expression breaking through layers of his many defenses.

It hadn't been until Storybrooke that he'd called her _sweetheart_ though. Not until after he'd lost her and gained her back did she see a few more layers begin to peel away. He'd been hurt so deeply and built the walls so thick and so high that it was a wonder that she'd ever caught a glimpse of him in the first place. She had though, and she'd _known_ it was worth it.

It was the little things, Belle decided, that showed her how much he'd changed. It was the way he tried to be better even when he really didn't want to care and the way he had become more willing to admit his own wrongs. It was in the way his voice grew softer when he spoke to her. Her name was special to him, just as she was. Everyone else could be dearie, but only Belle was his sweetheart.

* * *

END.


End file.
